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Copyright by CHAS. K. HARRIS, 1913. 



©CI.A349868 

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> Members of the Acosta Club 

"I. 



^S <y 

-4/ "THE LUCKIEST MAN IN THE WORLD" 

(A Romance) 
CAST OF CHARACTERS 

HAROLD RUTLEDGE A Society millionaire 

-lias 

HOBSON A gardener 

BOB ROLLENSON His friend 

DANIEL HAWLEY A retired contractor 

FRANK HAWLEY. ..... .-.;. '. His Son 

JOHN V. STUYVESANT ' .'.' Stock broker 

ANGEL STUYVESANT His Wife 

FLORENCE STUYVESANT .... ... . , His Daughter 

JULIANE PPJ ;i *yV- ■ • • • • • • • • -A French Maid 

WILSON . .'. . . English Butler 

WINTHROP AINSWORTH i 

•JACK RANSOME K". 

WAYNE SHELLEY 

TOEL HILLMAN . 

MISS VIRGrlNIA SHELBURNE ......; ..'.': ..... .".'Heiress 

alias -'. 
MISS VINCENT . .'.';'. A Lady's Companion 

SYNOPSIS, OF THE PLAY. lr »K 

■■- ACT I— Acosta Club. New York, May 15, 1914., 

ACT II — "The Breakers" on the Hudson, June 15th. 
h Scene 2— Curtain is lowered one minute ty show lapse of tim 

; . frorri morning until evening/ 

ACT III — Italian Gardens at "The Breakers." (One week later.) 
Scene 2 — Evergreen Glade. -. '■■-... 

Scene 3 — Drawing room. Two hours later. 

ACT IV— Same as Act II. Scene 1. 

Scene 2 — A road to the station. 
Scene 3 — Library same night. 

SYNOPSIS 

Harold Rutledge, a young society millionaire, has returned from a hunt- 
ing trip to Africa, and is being entertained at the Acosta Club by the mem- 
bers, who wish to show their appreciation of him, a good fellow. After the 
banquet, they sit discoursing on different subjects. Harold expresses himself 
rather forcibly, that in the Twentieth Century there should be so many mil- 
lionaires' sons, who are trying to ape the English, who think it is a disgrace 
to work.- They banter him and ask him why he does not go to work himself. 
Nevertheless ; he seems to be very much in earnest upon this subject. His 
friends are rather surprised at him, as they consider him one of the luckiest 
young men in the world, with millions of dollars at his command, handsome, 
young, and healthy, with everything his heart may desire. Nevertheless, he 
appears very much dissatisfied with himself. His friend and companion, 

"~ 3 ~ 

r: 



young Bob Rollenson, is looking at his friend Rutledge very seriously, and he 
says: "Harold, I don't quite get you since your return from abroad. What 
has changed you?" "Well, I'll tell you, Bob; I'm sick and tired of leading 
this butterfly life. This aimless existence palls upon me. You and I have 
never worked. Don't you think it is about time we did something for the 
good of our country, instead of only spending our old man's money? I tell 
you, Bob, it makes me sick at heart sometimes, when I think of it." "Hold 
on, Harold," said Bob, "I am not as lucky as you. My old man used to have 
a barrel of money once upon a time, but you know there has been a great 
change since you left." "I think I heard something about it while I was on 
the Continent," said Harold, "about your old man going into bankruptcy." 
"Yes, the bottom dropped out of the old man's mines. You know he floated 
a great many of the stocks, and when the gold gave out it broke him. Of 
course, he was rated as a millionaire ten times over, but when the crash 
came, the old man couldn't stand the shock and committed suicide. This 
happened when I was away at college. They sent for me — that is, mother 
did, as all the money was swept away, outside of the money which comes 
from my grandmother's side, which was left to me and my mother jointly. 
That's what we are living on at the present time." "Well, old pal," said 
Harold, "I am really sorry, but why don't you go to work?" "Well, that's 
just it, Harold, why don't I? What can I do? I hate the idea of going to 
my millionaire friends and asking them for a position, and who would give 
me one?" "Well, never mind, Bob, something may turn up. You never can 
tell? It's always darkest before dawn." 

Jack Ransome, one of the club members, who is sitting in a big arm 
chair, smoking a cigar and reading the latest edition of the New York "Sun," 
says: "Listen to this, Rutledge, this may strike you." "Well, fire away. 
What's the news?" "You have all heard of old man Shelburne, the well- 
known retired railroad magnate, and some say — a billionaire. Well, he has a 
niece, Miss W'innie, who has been over in Europe for the past two years, 
cutting a great swath among the dukes and lords. Many of those penniless 
nobility have been trying to marry her for her money. She's returned to 
America, and she has left home suddenly, leaving a note to her uncle in 
Boston, saying: 'My dear Uncle, I am going away for a while. I am sick 
and tired of being a social butterfly. I am going out and try and do some- 
thing for myself, and try and earn my own living. I am sick and tired of 
these penniless dukes and lords who have been trying to marry me for my 
money, and until I meet the man that wants to marry me for myself, then, and 
not till then, will I ever marry. Forgive me, Uncle. Don't worry about me. 
I have secured a position, so please do not worry or try to find me. It will be 
useless. If, at the end of six months I find that I have missed my vocation, I 
will return home and take up my social duties again. Forgive me, Uncle. 

Your loving niece Winnie.' " 
and he throws the paper containing this over to Harold Rutledge, who glances 
through it, and as he reads it over carefully, says to himself: "By Jove, I 
admire that girl. What a woman, to go out into the world alone, and what 
glorious independence. Bless her heart, I wish her Godspeed and all the 
luck in the world." And then, while carelessly glancing through the paper, 
his eyes alight upon a small advertisement, and he reads : "Wanted, a gar- 
dener. One who understands the taking care of flowers, flower beds, trees, 
etc. Inquire John V. Stuyvesant. 'Breakers' on the Hudson." He carefully 
cuts out this article and places it in his pocket. Bob comes over to his table 
and says: "Hello, Harold, what are you tearing out there?" Harold looks 
up somewhat guiltily and savs. "Only a small piece of poetry which has 
caught my fancy." At that minute the outside door opens and four young 
men come boisterously into the club room, talking very loudly and Bob says: 
"Here comes that young Franklyn Hawley. He makes me sick.". "Franklyn 

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Hawley," says Harold, "not old Daniel Hawley's son — the contractor?" "Yes, 
that's the fellow. Why?" "Why," said Harold, "how in the devil did he ever 
get into this club? That's what I'd like to know." "Well," said Bob, "you 
know, Harold, that money can get you in almost anywhere in this age." "I 
don't know about that," said Harold. "I always thought that the Acosta Club 
was unique in a way. That it was not the money so much that counted, as 
character. He must have gotten in when I was away, because I would have 
never allowed his name to go through if I were here." "Good Heavens," Har- 
old, "said Bob, what have you got against young Hawley?" "Just listen, 
Bob. I know I can trust you. We have both grown up together and we 
understand each other. If you remember, five years ago when my poor dad 
was alive, he sent me to Paris to study art, as it were, as I dabbled a little 
in painting, if you remember. There was quite a number of young American 
chaps doing the same thing. We lived at a Pension, kept by an old French 
woman by the name of Mme. Fromme. She was a grand old soul, and she 
mothered all of us students, and I tell you, Bob, she had her hands full, but 
we all loved her like we. loved our own mother. She had a daughter — 
Juliane. She was about seventeen years of age. She must be about twenty- 
two to-day. Pretty as a picture. Juliane had a sort of a sweet voice and 
her mother thought that she might become a 'Patti' some day. Of course we 
knew better, but to please the old lady, we encouraged her along with the 
idea. Young Hawley was also a student, and a boarder at the same house. 
Juliane and Hawley disappeared one night. He look her to America. I will 
never forget the old lady as long as I live, Bob. How the poor old soul car- 
ried on. I tell you, old pal, it cast a damper over us all. I left shortly after 
for America. Before I left, the broken-hearted old lady called me into her 
room. She gave me a photograph of Juliane, which I still retain, and said, 
'Mr. Rutledge, you are from America, just the same as Hawley. I know no 
good can come to my daughter with that man. Tell her, if you ever see her, 
that I forgive her, and that she always will have a home here, if she will only 
come back to me. Try and find her, and tell her that, if you ever see her.' 
I looked into her dear, kind, motherly face, while the tears were streaming 
down her cheeks, and I promised her that I would try and find her daughter, 
and if any harm would come to her through Hawley, I would make him make 
good if I had to kill him to do it. I kissed the old lady and left for America 
that afternoon. Well, Bob, I arrived safe, glad to get back to my old home 
again and you know what happened. My father died, and after the estate 
was settled, I took a long trip. This is the first time I have heard Hawley's 
name mentioned since the time I left Paris, five years ago." 

"Gee whiz," said Bob, "that's a confounded outrage. I have a good mind 
to tip the boys off and have him fired from the club." "No, Bob. You just 
keep quiet. Don't let on you know anything about it. Otherwise you will 
spoil my little game. Don't disturb him. Leave him to me. I am going to 
find out first what has become of Juliane. Hush, here they come now." 
Franklyn Hawley is speaking very loudly to his companions, saying, "Say, 
boys, I've got a great stunt on for to-night. You all know Edgerton, of Phil- 
adelphia. Well, he is sending four girls over here to-night. They are coming 
to New York to get a job as show girls in a big musical production ; he has 
told them that I am the manager, who has the engaging of the girls, and 
thev are coming to my apartment when they arrive, which will be about 10 
P. M., and we will have a ereat time with them. Say, Bob, are you in on it?" 
Bob turns to him and coldlv says, "Just count me out. Hawley." One of the 
boys savs, "Count me in, Franklyn." Another says, "Me too." "Well, that 
makes three. Now I have to get one more to make the party complete. 
Hello, Rutledg-e, well, I AM glad to see you. Home again, eh !" Harold 
looks up at him coldly and says, "Yes. what of it?" "How would you like 
to make one of our party to-night? Remember our old Paris days. We will 



have something that will beat them all hollow. What do you say, Rutledge? 
\\ ill you comer" "You want your answer now," said Rutledge, coldly, while 
all the men stand around looking at them and wondering what was going to 
happen? "Why, yes, sure." "Well, here's my answer," standing up and 
taking a glass of water from the table and throwing it full into Franklyn's 
face. & In an instant there is a great commotion. Frankiyn Hawiey makes a 
jump at Rutledge, but Bob jumps in between them. There is great excite- 
ment as Hawiey splutters : "I will get even with you for this, Rutiedge, see 
if I don't" as Rutledge stands coldly by, without saying a word, as the cur- 
tain slowly falls. 

ACT II— Scene 1. 

"The Breakers" on the Hudson, June 15. 

One month has elapsed since the scene at the Acosta Club. Harold has 
applied for a position at "The Breakers" on the Hudson, and is engaged by 
Mr. Stuyvesant as gardener, and is very much interested in his work. He 
has let his beard grow so that his own mother would not have known him. 
He is in his element at last, as he thoroughly enjoys his work, as for many 
years, his hobby has been botany, the caring of flowers, and the raising of 
them, as he intended some day to buy a large estate where he could devote his 
entire time and attention to that line of work, and here at last, he is settled in 
a position where he can allow his talents free rein, and at the same time 
earn an honest living, for the first time in his life. It is all a great novelty to 
him, as vvell as a great pleasure. Mrs. Stuyvesant, the wife of Mr. Stuy- 
vesant, is an invalid, and is always wheeled in an invalid chair. She is a 
sweet old lady of about 60 years of age — silvery haired, soft voiced and gentle. 
She is'attended by a young lady companion, who has been engaged as a 
companion to the old lady for a few hours during the day. Miss Vincent, 
who is the young lady companion, is seen wheeling her mistress into the 
garden where the old lady expresses a desire to go. As it has been raining 
for the past week, this was the first day that they had a chance to breathe 
among the flowers. "How beautiful it is here," said Miss Vincent. "What 
glorious trees, what beautiful flowers." "Yes," exclaimed the old lady, "we 
have engaged a new gardener, and Mr. Stuyvesant says he has done wonders 
with our garden, which never blossomed so sweetly before under our former 
gardener, old man Hammond. Poor old man, he passed away among his 
flowers several months ago. They never seemed to have grown and blos- 
somed so sweetly under him as they do under this new man, who seems to 
have magic in his touch." "Well," says Miss Vincent, "he must surely be a 
wonder, to hear you rave so about him." "There he is now," said Mrs. Stuy- 
vesant, "working, as usual, among his beloved flowers. What's his name? 
It's Hobson. It's strange that I never saw him around here before. Well, 
he's been so busy fixing up the gardens, trimming the plants and flowers, and 
the weather has been so rainy, and we have been in the garden so seldom 
that is why, perhaps, you have never seen him before. Kindly call him, Miss 
Vincent, and tell him that I would like a bunch of those beautiful violets." 
"Hobson, Hobson," called Miss Vincent, "come this way, please," and Hob- 
son emerged from under the bushes to where Miss Vincent is calling him. 
"Yes, Miss," says he, as he touched his cap respectfully. "Will you kindly 
pick a bunch of violets for Mrs. Stuyvesant, and bring them here to me?" 
"Certainly, Miss." In a few moments he returns with a large bunch of vio- 
lets and hands them to Miss Vincent, and as he gazes up into her face his 
heart is stirred as it never has been before in all his life, as he looks into a 
beautiful pair of soft violet eyes. "Why, Hobson," laughed Mrs. Stuyvesant, 
who had been taking in the scene, "what are you staring at so," and Hobson 
turns to her and stammeringly savs : "I forp-ot myself for a moment, Mrs. 
Stuyvesant. I beg your pardon." She said, "That's all right, Hobson. Thank 



you so much for the beautiful flowers. I hope that you will continue to do 
as good work as you have been doing." "Thank you, ma'm," as he touches 
his cap again and shambles away to his work. "What a peculiar fellow," said 
Miss Vincent. "He appears to me as though he has seen better days; he has 
ail the instincts of a gentleman." "Now, that's, strange," said Mrs. Stuy- 
vesant, "I had that same impression when I first saw him. I suppose he 
has been with some first-class families as a gardener and has picked up some 
of their ways." "That may be," said- Miss Vincent. At that moment John 
Stuyvesant walks into the garden. He is a fine looking old gentleman about 
7,0 years of age. Iron gray hair, tall and stately, like one of the old Southern 
gentlemen of the old school. "Well, well, Angel," says he, as he stoops down 
and kisses his wife. "How well you are looking this morning." "Yes, John," 
says she. as she gazes fondly into his eyes. "I am feeling splendid." "And 
what beautiful flowers you have ! That must be some of Hobson's work. 
What a treasure he is, and how lucky we were to get him. By the way, 
Angel, where is Florence this morning?" "I secured her a new maid," said 
Mrs. Stuyvesant, "a French maid from Mrs. Gilmore's, who sails for Europe. 
Not wishing to take the maid with her, and knowing Florence was in need of 
one, she sent her over to Florence. I suppose she is with her now." At this 
moment Florence comes down the steps, dressed in white. A beautiful girl 
about nineteen years of age, accompanied by her little French maid, whom 
she introduces to Miss Vincent as Miss Juliane. "This looks like a family 
party," said Mr. Stuyvesant, "but I am awfully sorry I will have to disturb 
you all. I am expecting a visitor — an old friend of mine, on important busi- 
ness and I want you to all go around to the other part of the garden, if you 
don't mind. I hate to chase you away, Angel," as Mrs. Stuyvesant laughingly 
says : "You are trying to get rid of us," as he again stoops to kiss her. "Angel, 
I don't know what I would do without you." Miss Vincent starts to wheel 
the chair and they follow her to the other part of the garden. An automobile 
stops at the side entrance, and old Daniel Hawley steps out of the car and 
is greeted by Mr. Stuyvesant, who says : "How do you do, Hawley, I am glad 
to see you. Come right in and sit down at this table." Old man Hawley sits 
down and looks admiringly about him. "Say, Stuyvesant, this is some place, 
indeed. It's just like fairyland. Like what I used to read in the fairy books 
when I was a kid. Never knew you had such a wonderful place. You surely 
ought to feel proud of it." "Thank you, Hawley. I am glad you like it." 
"Say Stuyvesant ; now to business. Have you talked that over with your 
daughter regarding my son Franklyn?" "Yes, Hawley, I have." "Well, 
what did she say," said Hawley. "I am sorry to say, Dan, she said 'no.' " 
"She did? Did you tell her all the money that he was going to get? What 
a great future he has before him, and what a fine lad he is?" "Yes, Dan, I 
told her all." "And she still said no?" "And she still said no." "Well, what 
objections has she against him? Is it just because he's a little wild? All 
young men are that way. You and I have both been wild in our young days. 
W^e have sowed our wild oats and the boy will settle down after he marries 
your daughter." "Dan, I don't think it can ever be. My daughter will never 
marry the man she does not love. Money does not count in this instance. 
The girl must have something to say in this matter." "Oh, hang it all, Stuy- 
vesant. don't be a sentimental old fool. We are both too old for that. You 
remember, old friend, forty years ago when we both met out West. I was 
a coal miner's son. You were the boss's son. You remember the day you 
come down in the mine and the explosion." "Yes, yes, Hawley, and you 
saved my life. I have never forgotten it." "Well, I don't want to throw that 
up, Stuyvesant, but I am just talking of old times to refresh your memory. 
You went East and went into the brokerage business. I stayed in the West. 
I grew successful in the coal mining business, and got to own a few myself, 
with the result that all the world knows. I married above my station. I 

— 7 — 



acknowledge it. When my wife died, she left me a son— Franklyn. Now,- 
he's all I've got in the world, and it's natural I want to see him settled well 
in life, as I am growing old, and cannot last much longer. I know your 
family', Stuyvesant. It is of the old blue blood stock — the best in this country, 
while I come from plain ordinary stock, as my dad, bless his old soul, was 
a laboring man, and so was his father before him. Now. Stuyvesant, look 
here. Let's get down to bed rock. Since you have gone out of the broker- 
age business, you have never left the ticker alone. I guess it's in the blood. 
That's your only fault. 1 know you very well. Now, Stuyvesant, listen. 
You've been gambling again. You know you have. You cannot keep away 
from the ticker, even to this day. Oh, don't start and turn white; nobody 
will hear me. Everything you have got here is mortgaged up to the handle." 
"Stop, for God's sake man." cried Stuyvesant. "Not so loud. I acknowledge 
the ticker has a fascination for me that nothing else in the world has. I 
have tried and tried to break myself of it, but, Hawley, it's impossible. I 
took a desperate plunge, thinking perhaps I could get back what I lost, but 
I have gotten in deeper." "Yes, yes, Stuyvesant; I know all about it. You 
have gone your limit. If I want, to-day I could close you out, and you would 
be a beggar. Now, there is only one chance. I am willing to receipt all of 
these notes of yours, which I have here with me. which include this beautiful 
home and everything that it contains, for which I hold your notes, which are 
now due, if my son marries your daughter." While they are conversing Hob- 
son has been an interested listener behind the large rose bush. He tried to 
get away before they were through, but found it was impossible, so he had 
to remain, for fear of being caught, therefore hearing the entire conversation 
which has ensued. "See here, Stuyvesant, Franklyn tells me your daughter 
is going to have a house party next week. Why not give him a chance? 
Have your daughter send him an invitation. Have him come on here to the 
house party. You never can tell. He may make good with her. She may fall 
in love with him. Stranger things have happened. After she sees him daily 
for a couple of. weeks under the same roof, her impression of him might 
change, and who knows he may win her in spite of herself. What say you? 
Is that fair?" "Yes, Dan, we will try it. I will have Florence send him an 
invitation and if he can win her, nothing in the world will give me greater 
pleasure, I assure you." "Come here, Franklyn," said Hawley, and Franklyn 
jumps out of the automobile where he has been waiting all this time. "I 
want you to meet my son, Franklyn. Mr. Stuyvesant, this is my boy, Frank- 
lyn." Franklyn shakes hands with him and says : "I think I have met you 
before, Mr. Stuyvesant, at the club." "Yes, yes," said the old man. "I have 
a faint recollection that I met you before." "You have a beautiful place 
here." "Yes, I would like to show it to you, if you would care to see it. We 
have a new gardener by the name of Hobson, who, since he has been with 
us, has done wonders with the place," and as they are speaking, Juliane, the 
French maid, comes running around from behind the house, to pick up a 
scarf which Miss Florence had dropped. She accidentally looks up into the 
eyes of Franklyn, who stares at her in utter amazement. Mr. Stuyvesant 
and Mr. Hawley have meanwhile walked away to another part of the garden, 
where Mr. Stuyvesant is showing him some of the flowers. Franklyn catches 
Juliane by the wrist and says: "You, Juliane, what are you doing here?" "I 
am Miss Florence Stuyvesant's new maid." "How long have you been here?" 
"I just came to-day." "Well, you get out to-night. Do you hear me, to-night." 
I don't want you around here," as she cringes before him. "Hush, the old 
man will be around here in a moment. I will meet you to-night over yonder, 
near the jose arbor, at 11 o'clock. Do you get me?" "Yes, yes; I will be 
there." "See that you do," as she rushes away. Mr. Stuyvesant and Mr. 
Hawley return and Franklyn turns to his father and says : "Are you ready, 
father?" "Yes, my son." "Say, dad, I am not going back to the city to-night. 

— 8 — 



Drop me off at the Country Club, will you? I promised some of the boys 
that I'd remain over for a game of golf with them, in the morning. Good- 
bye, Mr. Stuyvesant. I am pleased to have met you again." Mr. Stuyvesant 
escorts them to the gate, where the auto is waiting, and they get in, and ride 
away. He walks back slowly and sadly, with his hands behind his back, and 
goes into the house. 

Miss Vincent is slowly seen coming around the corner, wheeling the 
invalid chair. "Thank you, so much, Miss Vincent, for that pretty story you 
have been reading to me. Here comes Joe with the afternoon papers. Will 
you kindly just read the headlines over for me, as there may be something 
very interesting going on in the city, which I am always so anxious to know 
about." Miss Vincent reads the headlines. "Mr. Harold Rutledge, the New 
York millionaire, has disappeared, and no trace of him has been found, 
although the entire police and detective force have been searching for him 
for the last month. His friends, Bob Rollenson, has instituted a search for 
him. but all to no avail. His valet, says that Mr. Rutledge was in the habit 
of coming and going suddenly, and he expresses no fear for his master. Never- 
theless, his bankers, as well as his lawyers, and his friends, have been very 
anxious regarding him, since his disappearance." "Have you ever heard of 
him, Miss Vincent?" Miss Vincent: "Only as one of the idle rich, a man who 
only cares to travel and who seems to have no aim in life whatsoever, and 
with all his wealth, he surely ought to be helping the poor and the down- 
trodden of this country." As she is speaking, Hobson, who is trimming the 
flowers, overhears what she says. "How I wish I were a man," sighed Miss 
Vincent, "with all the money and power at my command that he has. The 
world would surely hear from me instead of roaming aimlessly around the 
world and shooting wild animals in Africa. Why doesn't he stay in New 
York City and look after his tenants, as I heard he owns a great deal of 
property, so they tell me, and he seems to know nothing or care about the 
conditions of his tenants." "Well, well," said Mrs. Stuyvesant, "young men 
will be young men, but he may change some day, Miss Vincent. We 
all do. Something will happen, perhaps, that will change his entire life." 
"Well, it ought to hurry, if it's coming at all. Here's another article regard- 
ing Miss Winnie Shelburne, the Boston heiress." "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Stuy- 
vesant, "what about her?" "Her uncle offered $10,000.00 reward for her, 
dead or alive, or for any information regarding her whereabouts." "That is a 
very strange case," said Mrs. Stuyvesant." "A young, rich, beautiful girl, 
leaves home suddenly, and goes out into the world to earn her own living. 
We girls never did that in our days, but the unrest of the women of the 
present age has changed everything so completely that it is not surprising 
when we read of such cases." Miss Vincent coughs and tries to hide her con- 
fusion behind her paper. "That will do, Miss Vincent. Kindly wheel me 
into the house, and then you may go back into the garden, and have a few 
hours to yourself before dinner." She wheels her into the house and then 
returns and walks over to admire a beautiful rose bush in full bloom, when 
she spies Hobson trimming the leaves. "What a beautiful flower, Hobsort. 
What do you call it?" "That is a combination Chinese and American rose, 
Miss." "How do you know so much about flowers, Hobson ? Wmere did 
you learn?" "Well, Miss, it's like this. My last employer was a millionaire. 
He wrs a botanist, also a great lover of flowers. He took me with him all 
over the world, and I naturally got into his ways." "What was his name?" 
He hesitates for a minute and says, "Jones, Miss." "Strange, I never heard of 
him " "That was his name all right. Miss." "What became of him?" "Oh, 
he died. Miss." "And so you inherited all that genius?" "If you call it so, 
Miss. You seem -to love flowers." "Love them? I am just crazy about 
them " "Say, Miss, how would you like to see an Egyptian lily in full bloom? 
It only blooms under a very strong light once in twenty years. Sometimes 

— 9 — 



the moon affects it and sometimes the sun. I am experimenting with electric 
light. I have hung a wire from the house into the rose arbor yonder. To- 
night, at 11 o'clock, it's going to bloom. If you want to see a beautiful sight, 
come out to-night, and you will see something that you won't see again, per- 
haps, in a lifetime. Will you come?" And he looks, into her eyes pleadingly. 
"I would like to come, Hobson. Do you think it would be right?" "Why 
not, Miss? You won't have to tell anyone. Just keep it mum. It will only 
be for a few moments." "I will come, Hobson." "Thank you, Miss," as he 
watches her as she walks into the house. 

SCENE 2— ACT II. 
11 o'clock. 

The moon is shining brightly. All in the house have gone to rest. Hob- 
son stands by the rose arbor, smoking his pipe, and as the blue smoke curls, 
he says to himself: "I wonder if she will come out to-night, and I also won- 
der what the dickens is the matter with me. I have been all over this world, 
met all kinds of girls, all kinds of women, tall and short, slim and stout, have 
gazed into blue eyes, brown, gray, and black, but never felt a thrill until 
to-day, and she only a working girl- — a companion to a sick lady. Gee whiz, 
I wonder what the boys at the Club would say. Harold Rutledge, millionaire, 
in love with a paid companion. Well, she acts just as proud as though she 
had a million of her own. By Jove, she has got nerve. Here she comes," and 
Miss Vincent slowly comes down the stairs. "Is that you, Hobson," as she 
catches a sight of him. "Yes, Miss; I thank you for coming out." "Why?" 
innocently. "Well, a lot of girls wouldn't. They would not have had your 
nerve. You know I never met you before until to-day, and I am only a 
gardener." "Well, I am only a lady's companion. There's not much differ- 
ence, is there?" "Well, there's something about you, Miss Vincent, that sets 
you far above me." "Oh, nonsense, Hobson. You must not talk like that. 
Where's that lily you were going to show me?" (trying to change the subject). 
"Come this way, Miss Vincent, and I will show ii. to you." They both enter 
the beautiful rose arbor. He turns on the light and there is a beautiful lily 
just about to open. "How beautiful," said she. "I never saw anything like 
it before." "Wait, Miss Vincent, a few moments, and you will see the petals 
slowly open." She watches his face, as he gazes rapturously at the flower, 
which is slowly unfolding, and wonders how an ordinary common gardener 
can have such a strong, masterful face and such beautiful thoughts and ideas, 
and be so interested in a flower. Just at that moment, they hear a walk upon 
the gravel path, and he immediately turns out the light. Heavens. Someone's 
coming. They look out between the tressle work of the arbor, and standing 
by the porch is a man, looking towards the house. "I wonder who he is," 
says Miss Vincent, "and what does he want at this hour? Do you think he 
is a burglar?" "You never can tell," says Hobson. "We will find out shortly. 
By Jove," said Hobson, "here comes Juliane. Perhaps it's her lover, and she 
is meeting him clandestinely." "Oh, how romantic," exclaims Miss Vincent. 
"Hush, they are coming this way," said Hobson. "I hope they won't come 
into the rose arbor. There will be the dickens to pay if he does." With their 
both heads together they watch Juliane come down the steps and see the tall 
figure of the man glide eagerly towards her and grab her by the wrist and 
pull her over to a bench outside of the rose arbor. "Sit down," said he in a 
hoarse whisper. "Now, here, tell me, how did you get here?" She says: 
"You left me and my baby six months ago, without a dollar. Alone in the 
city of New York, but I managed to live in spite of you. I secured a position 
as a maid with Mrs. Gilmore, who left for Europe a few days ago, and she 
sentme here." He says, "What did you do with the baby?" "I will not tell 
you." "See here, Juliane, I like you. I always liked you, and I always will, 
but I cannot help myself. My dad insists upon my marrying a society girl 



and I have got to abide by his will. If I don't marry her, he will disown me. 
Then, what would become of me? I have never done a stroke of work in all 
my life. Why, I couldn't earn live cents if I wanted to. Now, here's a thou- 
sand dollars, which the governor gave me, and I give it to you, and I want 
you to leave here to-night. Yes, to-night, and buy yourself a passage back 
to Fiance. Tell your mother 1 married you, but i m dead. Say what you 
please. You are young, you are pretty, you will have a chance of marrying 
one of your own kind and of your own class. You must go, because if you 
don't, I will be compelled to tell Mr. and Mrs. Stuyvesant who and what you 
are, and they will not keep ycu here a minute." As the girl sobs violently 
she says, "I see I cannot help myself; I will have to accept your proposition. 
Give me the money." As he hands her the money she turns to him and says : 
"Franklyn, I love you, I will always love you. You are the father of my 
child. I cannot help it. I will love you until I die. Won't you just kiss me 
once before I go?" He takes her in his arms and kisses her, and she then 
runs into the house, while he walks away into the darkness. The two in the 
summer-house sit thunderstruck, gazing at each other. "Well, what do you 
think of that, Miss Vincent." "Who do you suppose he is?" said she. 
why, I will tell you who he is, Miss Vincent. That's Franklyn Hawley." 
"Franklyn Hawley, the millionaire's son, the one whose name is coupled 
with Florence Stuyvesant." "Yes, but don't breathe it." "Isn't it too bad, 
what shall we do?" says she, excitedly. Hobson earnestly says: "Please don't 
do anything, Miss Vincent : leave them both to me. Something will turn up 
that will surprise you." "W T hy what do you mean, Hobson?" "Simply this. 
I know Hawley of old. I have a bone to pick with him." "You? Why, how 
is that?" "Please don't ask me. Miss Vincent. You go into the house." He 
takes her gently by the hand to the house. "I thank you so much for the 
confidence you have placed in me by coming out here to-night, to see the lily 
bloom. It's too late now. The lily has bloomed. We may never have the 
chance to see this one bloom again, but we may another. Please don't say 
anything to anyone about what occurred this evening. Everything will come 
out all right, never fear." As he takes her hand and respectfully kisses it, 
she runs into the house without a word. Hobson smilingly walks up and 
down, when suddenly a little form glides from the door, with a shawl around 
her head, and a satchel in her hand, to make her get-away, when she is stopped 
suddenly bv Hobson. "Juliane, where are you going at this time of the 
night?" "Oh, Mr. Hobson, how you frightened me." "You look as though 
you were going to steal away like a thief into the night." "Oh, Mr. Hobson, 
I am stealing away." "You are? Why, what's the trouble, Juliane? Look at 
me." He takes a match from his pocket and lights it and passes it before his 
face two or three times. "Did you ever see me before? Think, child, think." 
"There is something about your eyes, Mr. Hobson, that I have seen somewhere 
before. Somewhere in my dear home in France." "You are right. Juliane, I 
am Mr. Harold Rutledge, who lived with your mother at the old Pension in 
Paris." "Mr. Rutledge. the American millionaire? What are you doing here 
as a poor gardener? Did vou lose all your money, Mr. Rutledge?" "Never 
mind about that, Juliane. But I know all about Hawley and you." "Mr. Rut- 
ledge, YOU DO." "Yes, I heard everything: to-night. He wants to send you 
back to Paris." "Yes. and I must go." "Well, not if I can help it. Wait a 
minute." He immediatelv takes a piece of paper from his pocket and he 
writes something on it. He folds it, hands it to her, and says: "You take this 
note to this address — 436 Fifth Avenue, New York City. It is my Aunt's 
home. I will explain all to her over the long distance 'phone. She will take 
you in. Take the baby there also, and stay there until I send for vou, and 
don't tell a living" soul where you are. Can you remember that?" "Yes. Mr. 
Rutledge. I will." "Remember, Juliane, it's for your mother's sake and the 
baby's sake, and I'm not going to see you get the worst of it." 



CURTAIN. 

ACT III— SCENE 1. 

Italian Gardens at "The Breakers." (One week later. J 

House party at the home of the Stuyvesants. Another part or the grounds 
with the golf links in the distance. Bob and young Shelley are coming down 
the steps with their golf sticks. "I say, Bob," says Shelley, "I like old man 
Stuyvesant, and isn't Mrs. Stuyvesant a fine old lady, and Florence — she's a 
little queen. What's the matter, Bob, you seem downhearted. You and 
Hawley haven't had a run-in, have you?" "Quit it, Shelley; don't mention 
Hawley's name. I wonder how in the dickens he ever received an invitation 
to this house party. That fellow seems to butt himself in wherever he isn't 
wanted. His old man is here too. I hate those climbers, and if ever there 
was climbers, it's old man Hawley and that son of his. Trying to push him 
down our throats. First he gets him into the club ; now he is at this party." 
"What's eating you, Bob? Oh, don't think I don't know. You're in love with 
Florence." "Well, Shelley, I don't deny it. I have loved her ever since I 
was a kid, and she was a school girl. I even used to carry her books from 
school." "Well, why don't you go in and win her like a man? This is a free 
country Same chances for you as there is for Hawley." "Yes, I suppose 
so, but you know I haven't got a bunch of money back of me like Hawley 
has." "Say, Bob, it isn't always the money — it's the man that counts in many 
cases." "Well, I hope it's the man that will count in this case, because, Shel- 
ley, I am going out to win." "Good boy, I am glad to hear you talk that way," 
as Shelley slaps him on the back. Florence comes running down and says : 
"Oh, Bob, wait for me. Take me over to the links." "Say, Shelley, isn't she 
beautiful ; how could any man help loving her?" "I should say so. Bob," says 
Shelley, and the three walk laughingly away towards the links. Just at that 
moment, Miss Vincent comes from the garden with her apron full of flowers 
which Hobson has picked for her, as she intends them for the dining-room. 
"Oh, thank you, Hobson, for those beautiful flowers," and as Hobson touches 
his hat and walks away to attend to his garden, Franklyn Hawley comes 
quietly from around the corner of the house, smoking his cigar, and stands 
in front of Miss Vincent. "Hello, Miss Vincent," says he mockingly, "by 
Jove, but you're a pretty girl. Are you going to give me one of those flow- 
ers?" "Excuse me, Mr. Hawley, but will you kindly let me pass. I'm in a 
hurry." "Oh, say, come, cut that out. You know that it is awfully lonesome 
around here, and you're the only pretty girl in this whole bunch, and, do you 
know that I spotted you out the first time I saw you?" "Oh, you did? Well, 
it's very kind of you," said Miss Vincent cuttingly. "I ought to feel highly 
honored, oughtn't I" "Say, Miss Vincent, are you game?" "Why, what do 
you mean, Mr. Hawley?" "How would you like to take a run up to the city 
in my auto to-night, when they are all fast asleep? I can make it in an hour 
and a half in my car, and we will take in some of the cabarets and have a 
Tango dance. We will have some great old time. Will you come?" She 
turns away with a smile upon her face, and Hawley thinks she is going to 
give in, when she turns and looks at him for a moment and says: "Mr. Haw- 
ley, you have made a mistake. I am not the sort of a girl that you think I 
am. I am not looking for the good time that you want to give me. I am 
wise to those good times." He says : "What eyes, what lips ; by Jove, you've 
got me hypnotized. I am going to snatch a kiss from those ruby lips, if I 
die for it," and he grabs her suddenly, and struggles with her for a moment. 
She tries to repulse him. Hobson is watering the flowers nearby, and sud- 
denly turns the point of the nozzle of the hose straight into Hawley's face, 
almost choking him. Hawiey drops Miss Vincent suddenly, and turns and 
grabs Hobson by the collar, and says angrily : "What in the devil do you 
mean by turning that hose upon me?" Hobson says: "Oh, I say, sir, I am 



\2 



awfully sorry, sir, it was all an accident, sir. I will see that it doesn't happen 
again, sir." Miss Vincent has run into the house laughing. Hawley lets go 
of Hobson, and Hobson looks smilingly up into his face, and says : "I think 
sir, it has cooled you off a little. You see, sir, it's like this. I am rather sweet 
on Miss Vincent myself, and if there is any kissing going on, that's where I 
come in." As he is making these explanatory remarks, Miss Vincent is stand- 
ing near the window and overhears the conversation, as she is anxious to 
know what Hawley is going to do to Hobson, and she hears his last remarks. 
Hawley walks angrily away, and Hobson goes to the window as Miss Vincent 
calls him. She takes a flower and kisses it, and throws it to him. He catches 
it eagerly. She says : "I thank you, Hobson." He says : "Don't mention it, 
Miss Vincent. Water sometimes does some of us a lot of good," and he walks 
smilingly away, tenderly kissing the flower. 

CURTAIN. 

SCENE 2. 

(Evergreen Glade.) The Golfers are returning from the links. 6 P. M. 

SCENE 3. 
Drawing Room. (Two hours later.) 

Mr. Stuyvesant and Mr. Dan Hawley both enter. Hawley says : "Stuy- 
vesant, this is some swell home you have here. I must say. And this is 
some swell parlor. Say, pull down that curtain," says old Hawley. "Funny, 
I was always afraid of lightning. I guess my mother must have been afraid 
of it before I was born ; I have a horror of thunder and lightning." "Why," 
says Stuyvesant, "I love it. I love to hear the thunder roar, and I love to see 
the lightning flash, and I love to hear the rain patter upon the roof." "Well, 
I always told you," said Hawley, "you were a different sort than I am. You're 
different in everything, and that's why I think my son and your daughter 
will make a great couple. Say, Stuyvesant, how about it ? Is it fixed?" "Yes, 
Hawley, it's fixed." "Good. How did it happen, old friend ; tell me." "I 
told her the truth," said Stuyvesant. "You told her," said Hawley, "that you 
were ruined and that you owe me money?" "Yes." "Good Heavens, man, 
what did you tell her that for?" "Because I was not going to act a lie. It was 
best that she should know the truth, so if she married your son, she could 
marry him with her eyes open." "What did she say?" ''As any dutiful, 
loving daughter would say, That she would marry him." "When are you 
going to announce it," said old Hawley. "I will announce it to-night, when 
the guests assemble. Leave it to me Hawley. The sooner it is over the 
better for all concerned." 

All the guests now stroll in, all in full evening dress. The storm is still 
raging, on the outside, and the rain is pouring down in torrents, while light- 
ning flashes. Mr. Stuyvesant says : "This is one of those equinoctial storms 
that come and go and only make the flowers smell more beautiful after the 
storm." The guests are laughing, singing, dancing and enjoying themselves 
as is usually done in a house party. Bob is turning over the leaves of the 
music, at the piano, that Florence is playing, and he is whispering something 
to her, which makes her smile as she still continues to play. Franklyn is at 
the other end of the parlor, with Miss Courtney, one of the society belles, 
who is a guest at the house party. Everybody is enjoying themselves, when 
in the midst of the jollity Stuyvesant says: "Ladies and gentlemen, I have a 
pleasant surprise for you all this evening." Instantly there is a lull in the 
conversation. The music stops suddenly. Florence and Bob looking up 
inquiringly at Mr. Stuyvesant, while he continues: "It is. with great pleasure 
that I announce to you the engagement of my daughter Florence to Mr. 
Franklyn Hawley." There is a crash as Bob's elbow strikes a vase upon the 

— ^3 — 



piano, which is filled with flowers, and it falls to the ground broken in a hun- 
dred pieces. He stands as though panic stricken, with a pale face, looking 
into the eyes of Florence, who has aiso risen at her father's words and stands 
as though she had been struck by lightning. In an instant all her young 
friends crowd around her, kiss her, and congratulate her, while all the young 
men crowd around Hawiey and shake him by the hand, while old man 
Hawley smiles and grasps the hand of Mr. Stuyvesant, and there is general 
rejoicing among the guests assembled. Everyone is laughing and everyone 
is talking, when all of a sudden, the door is opened and Hobson comes in 
and whispers something in the ear of Mr. Stuyvesant. "Good heavens, Hob- 
son, bring her in immediately." All eyes are turned towards the door, and 
for an instant there is a gasp of astonishment, as Hobson gently leads in 
Juliane, hugging a bundle close to her breast, while the rain is dripping off 
of her rain-soaked garments. "Great Heavens," said Stuyvesant to Juliane, 
"where have you been, child? Why did you go away, and what are you 
doing here to-night in this condition?" Hobson said: "I found her looking 
in the window, sir." She presses the little bundle closer and timidly looks 
toward Franklyn Hawley, who seems to shrink away as though he had 
seen a ghost. "I have come to see HIM," pointing with one finger at Frank- 
lyn Hawley. Stuyvesant exclaims: "Mr. Hawley? Him? Why, what do 
you mean, Juliane? He is the affianced husband of my daughter Florence." 
"That may be, Mr. Stuyvesant." said Juliane tearfully, "I cannot stop that, 
but he is the father of my child." "Great Heavens," said Stuyvesant. while 
old man Hawley, with flashing eyes turns suddenly to his boy and says: 
"Franklyn, what does this mean? Is this woman your wife?" Franklyn 
stands before his father, with his head bowed. "No, dad." "Is that baby your 
child? Tell the truth, lad. You never told me a lie in all your life. Don't 
tell me one now. I want the truth, and nothing but the truth." "It is, dad." 
"And you never married her?" "No, dad." "Well, by God, you will marry 
her, and marry her to-night. No son or kin of mine will ever do such an 
injustice to an innocent girl, as long as old Dan Hawley lives." He turns 
gently to Juliane, and says : "Come here, Juliane, don't be afraid, child. I'm 
your father now, and a grandfather to that little baby." "Why, Mr. Hawley, 
you don't mean to say that Franklyn will marry me?" "Yes, by God, he will 
marry you, and marry you to-night, or I will kill him with my own hands." 
He turns to Franklyn and says : "Get your things on and come along. Mr. 
Stuyvesant, send for my car." "Good Heavens, man, you're not going out 
in this storm. Wait until it blows over. Then you can motor to the city." 
"Not by a long shot," says Mr. Hawley. "Storm or no storm, we are going 
back to town to-night, and I will see that you get married good and strong, 
and then I will take them home to live with me." He puts his arm gently 
around Juliane and says: "Come with me, daughter; we're all going home." 
The butler comes in and hands them their hats and coats, and they leave, 
while the guests stand there transfixed and amazed at this unexpected scene, 
while Hobson stands looking smilingly into the face of Miss Vincent, who has 
been an interested spectator throughout it all. 

ACT IV— SCENE 1. 
Rose Garden (morning after). 
Mrs. Stuyvesant is reclining in her invalid chair, while Miss Vincent is 
reading beside her. Old Mr. Stuyvesant is seen at a table close by, looking 
over some papers. "The guests have all gone," says Mr. Stuyvesant. "Yes, 
dear," said the wife. "They have all gone but Mr. Rollenson, who leaves to- 
day." "Wasn't that a noble thing that Mr. Hawley did last night," said Miss 
Vincent. "How grand he appeared." "Yes, yes," said old Mr. Stuyvesant. 
"I know old Dan Hawley for many years. He seems to everybody a hard., 
cruel man, as he has had many a hard, cruel knock, but way down deep in his 

— 14 — 



heart it is all pure gold. He will see that Juliane gets her rights, I have no 
doubt about that. Young Hawiey may turn out better than we thought." 
"Yes," said Miss Vincent, "but where has she been all this time, and how did 
she happen to come back just in the nick of time?" "That is what's puzzling 
me," said Stuyvesant, "but I suppose it was Fate." It had to be so. Miss 
Vincent sits looking dreamily towards the garden, where she sees Hobson, as 
usual, tending to the flowers, and she says to herself "I wonder." "What are 
you wondering at," said Mrs. Stuyvesant? "Oh, nothing. Something just 
seemed to strike me for a moment, but I guess I must be mistaken." "Well, 
Angel," said Mr. Stuyvesant, "I have got everything fixed. We will call all 
the old servants together here on the lawn, where 1 must tell them the sad 
truth, that we have to give up this home for a smaller one, and we will not 
need any of the servants any longer." "Why, Mr. Stuyvesant," said Miss 
Vincent, "you don't mean to say that you must give up this beautiful home 
of yours?" "Yes, my child," said Stuyvesant, sadly, "I must pay my debts. 
My daughter, myself and my wife cannot live upon anyone else's charity. 
We have a little money left out of the wreck, which will keep us in our old 
age." "I am so sorry," said Miss Vincent, as the tears fall down her cheeks. 
"There, there, child," said Mrs. Stuyvesant. "Don't cry. You can come and 
see me when I am settled in the little cottage back there on the estate, which 
is my own private property. We have only a few more years to live and I 
am sure that we will manage to get along somehow, father and I." At that 
instant all the servants gather, including Hobson, not knowing what they 
were being called for. Mr. Stuyvesant says to them in a sad voice: "I am 
very sorry but you will all have to look for another position." (They all stand 
looking at him thunderstruck.) "This home is no longer mine. It belongs to 
another. You can all remain here until the end of this month, when I shall 
pay you all off. In the meantime you can secure other positions." They all 
sadly walk away and Mrs. Stuyvesant says: "Wheel me into the house, Miss 
Vincent, and then perhaps it is best for you to look aroond the garden and 
say good-bye to the flowers that you love." Mr. Stuyvesant says: "I will 
wheel her in, and you can remain." He starts to wheel her in and Miss Vin- 
cent stands sadly gazing after the broken-down old couple. As she stands 
looking at them, Hobson comes slowly behind her and touches her upon the 
shoulder. "Good heavens, Hobson, how you startled me." "Sit down, Miss 
Vincent, I have something I want to talk over with you." "Why, what is it?" 
"Well, you see Miss, we are both discharged." "Yes, I am well aware of that 
fact." "So am I," said Hobson. "Well, what are you going to do," said Miss 
Vincent, have you anything in view?" "Well, I tell you, Miss Vincent, I 
have saved up a little money, and I am going to strike out for myself. I 
have purchased a few acres of land on the Hudson, and I am going to raise 
flowers for^ all the neighbors, and also will look after their gardens. I tell 
you, there's a lot of money in it, and I'm going to build a cozy little cottage, 
but I don't want to live there alone." "Well, why don't you live with your 
mother?" "I haven't any mother, Miss Vincent." "Well, then, why not 
your father?" "I haven't any father. He has been dead over three years." 
"Well, then, why not your sweetheart?" "Well, that's just it. There's only 
one girl in the world for me." "Yes." s^id Miss Vincent, innocently looking 
up into his face, "and where is she?" "Well, I will tell you," said Hobson, 
stammeringly. "I don't know how to start, but Miss Vincent, what's the use 
of beating around the bush ? You're the only girl I ever loved in all my life. 
The only girl I ever will love, but you are as far above me as the stars are 
above the earth. I know I am not good enough for you — only a plain blunt 
gardener, without education of any sort, and vou have come from a good fam- 
ilv. I can see that. You're educated." "Well, Hobson, don't vou think that 
I have a heart, too. Don't vou think that I can also love?" "Why, what do 
you mean," said Hobson. She said : "Just this. Can't I love you, as you say 

— 15 — 



you love me? I think I loved you from the very first time I saw you, when 
you handed me the bunch of violets for Mrs. Stuyvesant, but after you know 
more about me, I am sure you will never marry me." "W hy not," he declared. 
"Surely there is no other man." "No, there never was." "Well, then, 
what's to hinder us, sweetheart, from getting married. You told me once 
you have no one in the world but yourself to answer for you, just the same as 
myself, so why not let us go to the city and get married right away?" She 
stood up, facing him, her lace all aflame and said: "I don't know how I can 
answer you, but I will see you to-night at nine o'clock." "Where?" "You 
must come to the library and there before Mr. and Mrs. Stuyvesant, you will 
ask for my hand in marriage." "By Jove, I will gladly do it. Until to-night 
au revoir," as she instantly glides away into the house. He stands lookmg 
at her for a moment and says: "By Jove, I wonder, but what wiil she say 
when she knows who I am, that I have been masquerading and am under 
cover. Well, I hope she will think as much of me, when she knows I am a 
millionaire as if I am only plain Hobson. Well, to-night will tell, and that 
reminds me, I am off for the city. I have business myself to attend to, and 
must be back here when the clock strikes njne." At that instant, Bob and 
Florence come running down the steps. Florence cries, "Hobson, Hobson. 
just a minute please. Kindly pick me a rose." Bob stands with a satchel in 
his hand ready to go to the train. She takes the flower which Hobson hands 
her, and pins it to Bob's coat. "There, I have fixed you out in good shape, 
and now, Bob, good-bye until you make good." He glances down for a sec- 
ond into Hobson's face, and lets out a cry — "For God's sake, what does this 
mean?" Instantly Hobson puts his finger to his lips, and Bob straightens up 
suddenly, as Florence says: "Bob, are you ill? What is it dear?" "Oh, 
nothing, Florence ; I just felt a little faint — I thought I saw a ghost." "Wait, 
dear, I will go into the house and get something which mother has for just 
what ails you. I will be back in a moment." As she runs up the steps, Bob 
turns to Hobson and says: "For God's sake, Harold, old pal, what does this 
mean? You here, masquerading as a gardener. Surely you must have some 
object in this." "Yes, Bob, I have, but I cannot tell you." "How long have 
you been here?" "Three months." "And we've been searching all over the 
country for you. You left so suddenly. Even your valet did not know where 
you had gone. Why, the papers have been jammed full of it. Surely you 
must_have read about the disappearance of Harold Rutledge, the society mil- 
lionaire?" "Yes, Bob, I wanted to disappear. I was tired of the butterfly 
life which I was leading. I read an advertisement in the paper at the club 
that night, for a gardener, at the "Breakers," the home of the Stuyvesants, 
and you know that I know something about flowers and gardening, and I 
jumped at the chance. Let my beard grow, as you see, and I am proud to 
say not a soul recognized me but you." "You bet your life," said Bob, "you 
could never fool me, Harold. Say, Harold, I want to thank you for that kind 
letter you sent me, which I have shown to Florence. It has made a new man 
of me. You're going to give me a chance with one of your steamship com- 
panies and make me superintendent, and if I make good in a year, you are 
going to raise me higher." "Yes, Bob, that's my proposition. You have the 
health and you have the brains. Your father made good before you. I am 
going to give you your chance." "Thank you, Harold, and God bless you." 
"Hush, here comes Florence. I will see you," said Harold hurriedly, "at the 
club later. I may need your assistance. Good-bye." Florence comes out 
with a bottle. "Smell this, dear, it will brace you up," and they walk away 
to the gate, Hobson carrying Bob's satchel. As Florence turns to go into 
the house, she says to herself, "How happy I am. How beautiful everything 
has turned out." She suddenly comes upon Miss Vincent, who is sobbing 
bitterly. "Why, Miss Vincent, what are you crying for? W T hat is it? Please 
tell me. Is it because you have lost your position here? What is it dear? 

— 16 — 



Tell me. I am so happy myself that I wish that everyone else could be as 
happy as I am." "Oh, Miss Florence, I do so hate to leave here where every- 
one has been so kind, and where I felt so much at home. It is really the only 
home that I ever could remember. You see my father and mother died when 
I was a wee bit of a girl. I don't remember them. I was put into the hands 
of my guardians — my mother's brother and his sister. They were kind to me 
in a way, but they never took the place of a father or a mother's love. I was 
brought up in a convent. Everything that I desired in the world I had but to 
express a wish and I received it" "You? Why what do you mean," said 
Florence. Miss Vincent said : "Just allow me to go ahead in my own way. 
When I grew to be a young lady, my guardian was then Consul to Paris, 
where, of course, we moved in the higher aristocracy. I was then just 
eighteen and was making my debut. Counts, dukes, nobles of all sorts, some 
wealthy, some poor fortune hunters, all offered themselves to me. My uncle 
urged me on to make a brilliant match, but I did not care for any of them. 
The butterfly life disgusted me. I wished to earn my own living. I wished 
to do something in this world. I craved for love — yes, for the love of one 
honest man who would love me for myself alone. I never met the real man 
until three months ago." "Well, what then?" said Florence anxiously. "We 
returned to Boston, our old home, after the change of administration. My 
uncle's home was the center of all that was cultured and refined. There again 
I was thrown into the whirl of society. Teas, dances, operas, theatre parties, 
until I grew tired of it all, and I ran away." "You ran away, Miss Vincent, 
from all t a? What for?" "To be independent, to make my own living, to 
get away, as I said before, from all those fortune hunters who followed me and 
who wanted to marry me for my money. Yes, followed me even to Boston." 
"Good Heavens, you are not Miss Winnie Shelburne, whom the papers have 
been full of for the past three months, and who disappeared suddenly from 
her guardian's home in Boston?" "Yes, Miss Florence, I am Miss Shelburne." 
"You, my mother's companion. It seems incredible." "Yes, I know. But, oh, 
I have been so happy here and now it is all over." "But," said Florence, "have 
you met the man?" "Yes, Miss Florence, I have — poor but honest, and I 
love him with all my heart and soul." "Where did you meet him?" "I 
cannot tell you until to-night at nine o'clock." "W^here?" "In the parlor of 
your home, where I have told him to come." "Oh," said Florence, "how 
romantic. And will he surely be- there?" "Yes, and I want you to dress me 
up. From this moment, I am again Miss Shelburne, heiress," and with their 
arms around each other they walk into the house. 

SCENE 3— ACT IV. 
Library (night). 
Mr. Stuyvesant is sitting at the table, gathering his papers together, 
while his wife is sitting near him, watching him with a sorrowful face. "Yes, 
Angel, dear. Everything is ready. Just received a telegram. The new 
landlord will be here to-night at nine o'clock, so his dispatch reads. Perhaps 
we may soften him somewhat and secure better terms than we anticipate at 
the present time." At that moment the butler announces Mr. Bob Rollenson 
and Mr. Harold Rutledge. They both enter in full evening dress. "Why, 
Bob," said Mrs. Stuyvesant, "so glad to see you again," as he kisses her hand. 
"Allow me to introduce to you, my friend, Mr. Harold Rutledge, Mr. and Mrs. 
Stuyvesant." Harold has had his beard shaved and stands looking earnestly 
into Mr. Stuyvesant's face, as he shakes him by the hand and says : "I am 
delighted to meet you, Mr. Stuyvesant," and then walks over to the chair 
where Mrs. Stuyvesant is sitting and gently takes her hand and presses it to 
his lips and says, "also you, Mrs. Stuyvesant. I heard Bob speak about you 
so much." "W T on't you be seated," said Mr. Stuyvesant, with a shaking voice. 
"Thank you." "By the way, Mrs. Stuyvesant," said Bob, "will you excuse 

— 17 - 



me?" "Yes, I know. Bob. She's in the parlor waiting for you," as she gazes 
fondly at her new son-in-law-to-be, and -Bob makes his exit. "Let's to busi- 
ness," said Mr. Stuyvesant, "now that we are aione. Here are the papers. 
Here is my list of debts. I learn, Mr. Rutiedge,, that you have become the 
new owner by buying up all of the notes which were held by Mr. Hawiey." 
"Yes, that is the'truth," said Harold, glancing over the papers, and he says, 
"They look all right to me." "By the way," said Mr. Stuyvesant, "the name 
Rutiedge sounds very familiar to me. Yoiir .father was the steamboat mag- 
nate! was he not?" "Yes, Mr. Stuyvesant. -He died three years ago while I 
was in Europe." "I remember now. I knew h.m well, lad. He looked some- 
thing like you, and that is why I have been puzzling my old'head wondering 
where Iliad met you before." "That is so," said Mrs. Stuyvesant. "I feel 
that I have also seen you, and talked with you before. The tone of your voice 
sounds so familiar to me. Doesn't it, John," as she turns to Mr. Stuyvesant. 
Harold reaches down into his pocket and says : "Here are the notes. 1 Will 
you kindly glance them over and see if they are all O. K.?" As old Stuy- 
vesant takes them up shakingly and looks them: QW r he says : "Yes, they are 
the ones I gave to Mr. Hawiey. They are 0S.-K. alj" right.,! Your credentials 
are all O. K., Mr. Rutiedge, but what does. /this*, mean? They are all re- 
ceipted." "Well, what did you expect, Mr. Stuyvesant?",' "Expect? Surely 
the property is now yours? It is no longer mine,"- ..".Listen* Mr. Stuyvesant," 
said Harold impressively:" "When I returned from [Europe three, years ago on 
account of my father's death, and after t|he estate had been settled, I went 
through his private papers and there*. was a letter addressed tome, which I 
will now read to you." He slowly unfolds a letter and reads, while both Mr. 
and Mrs. Stuyvesant gaze eagerly at him. 
"My Dear Son: 

"When you read this letter, I will be dead and gone. After the estate is 
all settled, I want you tdiook up John V. Stuyvesant. broker, 38 Wall Street, 
New York City, and turnover to frhrithe Sum of $150,00009. L wau^you to 
do this unbeknown to '"the executors 1 -6f -the estate, and to take same out of 
your own private purse, as I do not wish : anyone to know of this transaction 
but yourself. Years ago, wheh : 'T was starting in to make money hand over 
fist, I grew money mad. I thoug-hi of nothing, dreamed of nothing but 
money. I think I would have sold' my- very :soul for money at that time. 
John Stuyvesant was my broker. He was honest and conscientious. A big 
deal came up regarding the consolidation of the American Steamship Co., 
and not wishing to be known in the affair, I allowed Stuyvesant to handle it 
for me, and try and consolidate this company on a commission basis. He 
handled it in excellent shape and within a short time the consolidation was 
complete and I was made president of the company. I told him his com- 
missions were $100,000.00, and I turned him over a check for that amount. 
He took it gladly, never doubting my word. In fact, it was $250,000.00, but 
I was anxious to make the extra commission, thinking at the time that it was 
a smart business deal, but I have never had any peace of mind since. As 
years went by, other big deals came up and I almost had forgotten the trans- 
action, and my conscience was almost stilled, when I felt that death was 
growing upon me and I could not live much, longer and it has alb come back 
to me like a flash that this is the one dishonorable action in all my life, and I 
wish you, my son, after my death, to look him up, wherever he may be, and if 
he is stiil alive, or his heirs, read this letter to him -and turn over the balance 
$150,000.00 out of your own purse. I feel assured he will recall the incident. 
That's all. . , . 

"With love to you, I am, 

"YOUR LOVING FATHER." 

— i8 — 



While he is reading this, Stuyvesant's head falls on his arms upon the 
table. Harold stands up and lovingly places his arms around the old man's 
shoulders. "I have no father now, and I have no mother. I would like to 
adopt a father and a mother. I love this old place 'The Breakers,' and it 
seems as though I have lived here all my life. You both took me in when I 
applied for a position. You gave me shelter. You gave me work. You were 
both like a father and a mother to me." "Why, what do you mean?" said 
Mr. Stuyvesant. "I took you in? You, Harold Rutledge. Good Heavens, 
man, what are you saying?" "There, there," said Harold, quietly; "don't 
excite yourself. You said you recognized my voice a little while ago, both 
you and Mrs. Stuyvesant." "Yes, we did, who in Heaven's name are you?" 
"I'm Hobson." "Good Heavens," said Mrs. Stuyvesant, "Hobson, our gar- 
dener," while Mr. Stuyvesant falls back into the chair, overcome. "You, 
Hobson, the gardener, and masquerading here in my home. Why?" "Just 
to get away from the social whirl. To get back to Mother Earth. Just to get 
away from the frivolities of life and be a man. I came here. I found work, 
peace and love." "Surely not love for my daughter Florence," said Mrs. 
Stuyvesant. "No, Mrs. Stuyvesant. Not your daughter. Another." "Sure- 
ly not Miss Vincent," with a sparkle in her eye. "Yes, Miss Vincent." "Does 
she know it?" "She knows that Hobson loves her, but not Rutledge." "Good- 
ness me, what a romance. Here comes Florence and Bob." Bob takes Flor- 
ence by the hand and says : "Florence, I want you to meet my dearest friend 
Mr. Harold Rutledge." "Oh, Mr. Rutledge," said Florence, as she eagerly 
ran to him and warmly shakes his hand, "I heard Bob speak of you so often 
that I really feel that Fve known you all my life. And how kind of you to 
give him that splendid chance." "Thank you," said Harold quietly. "Please 
don't mention it, Miss Stuyvesant." As she hears his voice she says, "How 
strange, I have heard your voice before." Harold and Bob turn away smil- 
ingly. "By the way," says Harold, "is Miss Vincent at home?" "Miss Vin- 
cent?" says Florence. "Why, she's not here any more." "Not here?" "When 
did she leave?" "Miss Vincent is gone forever. You will never see her 
again. She left a message with me to give to Hobson the gardener." 
"Well, Fll take it Miss Stuvesant and give it to him. I am so sorry, but 
Hobson is no longer here either. He left this morning to accept a new 
position. And Miss Vincent is not here. That's strange." Just at that 
instant the clock strikes nine. Coming down the beautiful staircase is Miss 
W r innie Shelburne, in full evening dress, carrying a large bouquet. As she 
walks down the stairs, they all gaze upon her in mute astonishment, 
Florence being the only one that is in the secret. "Good Heavens," said Bob, 
"isn't she a beauty. Introduce me, Florence." "Silence," whispers Flor- 
ence, "it is the long lost heiress, Miss Winnie Shelburne." "Good Heavens, 
here?" "Yes, keep quiet, can't you. Watch Harold." Harold stands looking 
at her as though in a trance as she comes slowly into the room, and Florence 
says: "Mother, this is Miss Winnie Shelburne, and this is my father." They 
both bow and look at her intensely. Not understanding what it all means. 
Harold is gazing at her with his heart in his eyes. "Allow me to introduce 
Miss W T innie Shelburne — Mr. Harold Rutledge." As she gazes into his eyes, 
the flowers drop upon the carpet and Harold stoops to pick them up all 
bewildered. He says, "Miss Shelburne, allow me please," as he picks them 
up and hands them to her while they both stand gazing at each other in 
utter surprise. "Come," whispers Florence to Bob, "we are not wanted here 
at present." She also beckons to her father and he quietly wheels his wife 
from the room, leaving Harold and Winnie standing in the center of the 
room, gazing at each other, with their hearts in their eyes. "Miss Winnie 
Shelburne, heiress. Am I dreaming," murmurs Harold. "Mr. Harold Rut- 
ledge. the society millionaire butterfly. Am I dreaming," also murmurs 
Winnie. "YOU," said Harold, "YOU masquerading as a companion." "And 

— 19 — 



JUL 14 191? 



YOU, YOU," repeats Miss Winnie, "masquerading as a gardener." "Well, 
I was a gardener," said Harold, "until nine o'clock to-night;" "and I was a 
companion until nine o'clock to-night." "Well, I suppose," said Harold re- 
gretfully, "we can now say good-bye, and each go our own way again, back 
to the butterfly life that we left. Now that you know who I am and I know 
who you are, I suppose, it's all off between us." "Isn't it too bad," said Miss 
Winnie, "that you are a millionaire. Why, oh why, Mr. Rutledge, have you 
got so much money?" "Why, oh, why, Miss Winnie, have YOU got so much 
money?" "I tell you what we'll do," said Miss Winnie, shyly. "Let's go 
back a few hours," as she goes to the clock and turns the hands back. "Now, 
sit here, Mr. Rutledge, and remember you are once again Hobson, the gar- 
dener, while I am just plain Miss Vincent." "That's splendid," said Harold. 
"Now," said Winnie, looking at Harold, "just say again the words that you 
said to me this morning. Repeat them please." "I love you, Miss Winnie, 
I love you with all my heart and soul, and I want you to be my wife. W r ill 
you?" "Will I," said Miss Winnie, "with all my heart and soul," as she 
throws herself into his arms, as the curtain slowly descends. 



THE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



017 198 589 4 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




